


Seeing Stars

by blackkat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Light Angst, Luna and Blaise vs. the Muggle World, M/M, Post-Canon, Road Trips, for Harry Potter, for Supernatural, largely ignores worldbuilding established by the Fantastic Beasts series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-09 06:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18632881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: On a road trip headed nowhere, escaping the aftermath of the war, Blaise and Luna trip over Sam, Dean, and another war. Blaise would much rather put the possible complication behind them and keep moving, but running has never worked before, and the odds of it keeping them out of trouble this time are even slimmer.





	1. Chapter 1

“It must be rather thoroughly infected with Nargles,” Luna says thoughtfully, waving away a shred of black smoke rising from the car’s engine.

Blaise grimaces, but doesn’t try to contradict her. For all he knows, it’s actually true. “Whatever the cause of it is, I doubt we can fix it ourselves,” he says disgustedly, and casts a critical eye over the façade of the motel above them. There are probably worse places to stay, but honestly, Blaise hasn’t encountered many of them.

Luna taps one sparkly, scarab-tipped nail against her lips. “I suppose not,” she agrees, but gives Blaise a smile. “Muggles have a system for this sort of thing, I expect.”

Muggles are, indeed, rather more prepared than a lot of pureblood rumor makes them out to be, Blaise admits. They likely do have some sort of system for fixing broken cars, though hell if Blaise knows it. It will be awkward to ask, too, because they can only get away with so much ignorance by claiming to be foreigners. So far the Muggles they’ve met have been willing to take the excuse at face value, but at some point someone in America is going to call them on it, and Blaise doesn’t have a good answer for when they do.

“Do you know the closest city with a wizarding district?” Luna asks, and steps back, letting the bonnet drop with a dull thud. “Perhaps there's someone there who can evict the Nargles.”

Blaise rubs a hand over his short hair and pulls a face. “Close in normal terms, or close in American terms?” he asks dryly, and Luna laughs. She hooks an arm through his, settling back against the side of the car and leaning into Blaise.

“Somewhere we can reach,” she says, and tips her head, wrinkling her nose. “I’d thought I was good at long-distance Apparation.”

“So did I,” Blaise mutters, and long distances in Britain and Scotland are one thing; long distances in America are something else entirely. Especially in this area of it, it seems. He and Luna had expected to be able to Apparate to a few major cities, hop around a bit and see the sights, but one jump from the New York City office had put the somewhere in suburban hell in southern New Jersey, and an Auror going the same direction had practically laughed herself sick when she realized why they were so confused. It had been her recommendation to rent a car for their trip, and Blaise hadn’t bothered to tell her neither of them had a license. Confounding the salesman had been simple enough, and figuring out how to drive hadn’t taken more than a few hours once they put their minds to it.

(Magic helps. Blaise isn't entirely sure how Muggles manage to pilot their vehicles without sensing charms, and he isn't entirely sure he wants to find out, either.)

“Perhaps it’s a sign,” Luna suggests, and she’s a frail weight against Blaise's side, thin and fair and more like a wisp of a dream than a dangerous witch. Blaise curls his arm around her almost automatically, and she casts a vague smile up at him. “Something is telling us to stay a little longer.”

“The car,” Blaise mutters, giving it a dirty look, but when Luna pokes him he relents with a sigh. “Oh, very well. I suppose a few more days here won't hurt.”

Luna laughs a little, and spins away from him with a flare of chaotically layered skirts. The combination of plaid and zebra print offends something soul-deep in Blaise, but when he tried to broach the subject Luna told him a Blithering Humdinger had taken up residence in his brain, and Blaise hasn’t been brave enough to try again.

“Harry was right, don’t you think?” she asks merrily, and her bare feet are silent on the pavement as she heads out of the nearly-empty lot. “This is a lovely vacation.”

His reservations about Harry Potter came mainly from their school days, and the weight of the war has since crushed them thoroughly. Blaise smiles crookedly, following the wind-swept tangles of blonde hair as Luna makes for the main street of the tiny town. He’d approached Potter after the battle, offered his hand and had it accepted, but—he hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t thought that his fragile friendship with Luna would last through the Carrows and out the other side of the war, turn into something that landed Blaise in the middle of the Muggle world with no map, no plan, no easy way back to the Wizarding World, and only Potter's _you might enjoy it, Zabini, you never know_ to urge him on.

Broken cars aside, it hasn’t been entirely terrible yet. The Muggle world is far, far vaster than Blaise had ever anticipated, and there's more of it to see than he would have thought. Luna has dragged them far off the beaten path at every opportunity, entirely delighted by some of America’s stranger magical creatures, and Blaise will admit to a certain appreciation for the wide, empty landscapes that are far less frequent in Europe. The magical community here is also different, scattered, less structured. There's a central government, but it’s less the stern authority of the British Ministry and more general, far-off oversight. Blaise isn't entirely sure he likes it.

Then again, there's no Lord Voldemort here. Blaise supposes that’s a point in their favor.

“Do you think there are Moon Frogs nearby?” Luna asks when he falls into step with her, and she’s smiling vaguely, a skip in her step that doesn’t fit the dusty streets of this dry place. “It feels like there should be, doesn’t it?”

“You're the expert on magizoology,” Blaise says dryly, because he remembers his scores in Care of Magical Creatures _very_ well. It’s always irked him, too. “If they can only be caught by a Dark spell, _then_ I can be of help.”

Luna laughs loudly at that, like it’s uproariously funny instead of the bitter truth. “ _Dark_ ,” she says, and cackles. Blaise rolls his eyes, though he can't fight a faint smile. Luna notices far more than most people give her credit for. And—maybe his family isn't Dark, though it’s served their purposes to be thought so. Better, after all, for his mother to be a powerful witch with a taste for killing rich husbands than someone with a touch of something _other_ in her blood.

Not that she doesn’t have a taste for killing rich husbands, too, but at this point Blaise tends to feel that anyone volunteering to marry her knows full well what they're getting into. And if not, they're stupid enough that their deaths are just natural law and the gene pool self-correcting.

“Don’t Moon Frogs only come out on the full moon?” he asks, because Luna is still giggling.

That sobers her a little, and she glances up, even though there's no trace of the moon in the midmorning sky. “I suppose that would make sense,” she says, contemplative. Then she brightens, and says, “Oh, but the manager was telling me about a spot in the river where we could swim, and he said the water there sometimes glows! It _must_ be Moon Frogs!”

Given Luna's knack for finding creatures wherever they go, Blaise is hardly about to argue. “Is it close enough to walk to?” he asks.

“Everything is close enough to walk to, provided there's time,” Luna says cheerfully, and Blaise resigns himself to a very, very long trek, probably in the dark. At least they’ll be able to Apparate on their way back.

“We should go while it’s still light,” he says, and over the course of their trip he’s seen plenty of Muggles attempting to catch their attention from the side of the road. Hitchhikers, apparently; Blaise supposes a little sourly that it’s a good alternative, now that their car is out of order. When Luna pauses, apparently enchanted by the idea of them dragging themselves over miles of darkened roads and unwilling to compromise, Blaise casts about for a way to sweeten the deal and settles on, “We can pack a dinner and have a picnic by the river.”

“I think that sounds lovely,” Luna says, though the bright smile she casts him says she sees right through the manipulation. Bloody Ravenclaws, really. “Pizza, again?”

Blaise grimaces. “That’s not _pizza_ ,” he protests, because his ancestors in Italy roll over in their graves every time the word is used on the American _abominations_.

Patting his arm, Luna offers up a sympathetic smile. “There, there, Blaise,” she says. “I'm sure they just don’t know better.”

Blaise has yet to be convinced of that. “It’s _not_ ,” he says haughtily, but steps forward to get the door of the diner for Luna before she can reach it. It’s not as though he isn't entirely aware that Luna Lovegood led an army against a Dark Lord at age seventeen, but his mother would box his ears if he didn’t at least make an attempt at manners, even in America.

“Ice cream sandwiches, then.” Luna skips past him, spinning to take in the diner’s shoddy interior like they haven’t depended on it for their last three meals. Her pale eyes are wide, and the iridescent gnome earrings she’s wearing glitter madly as she turns.

Entirely amused in spite of himself, Blaise reaches into the satchel he’s carrying and pulls out her sandals. “Luna,” he says, dangling them in front of her with a raised brow.

Luna comes to a whirling halt and beams at him, plucking them from his fingers and shoving her feet into them. “This works much better than just hoping they’ll come back on their own,” she says.

By the time Professor Snape took over as Headmaster and the Carrows arrived, things were in dire enough straights that the people who spent most of their time at Hogwarts bullying Luna mostly found other things to do, but some were stubborn and petty enough to keep at it regardless. More than once Blaise had stopped to help her find her books and shoes, hidden around the castle, and then escorted her back to the dorms so that no one would take her being out alone as rule-breaking.

It hadn’t always worked; Blaise himself was never in favor, viewed with suspicion and distaste because he was a Slytherin who wouldn’t swear himself to Voldemort, after all, and near the end of the war he spent nearly as much time in punishment as some of the Hufflepuffs. But he did what he could, then, and since they’ve started traveling he’s learned her habits, figured out how to adjust for them. It’s so very much a Luna sort of thing, that she walks barefoot practically everywhere but wears her shoes to bed because she has a habit of sleepwalking. Blaise is reluctantly charmed by it, though he supposes that sums up most of his feelings towards Luna in general.

“I suppose we should make arrangements to get the car seen to,” he says, and their regular booth is occupied by a pair of men, so he picks one a few down, sliding onto the sticky red vinyl with a grimace.

“Perhaps I can ask the manager,” Luna says, and waves merrily to the waitress. She’s not the younger woman who was in yesterday, which Blaise is entirely relieved about; instead of attempting to flirt, she just smiles perfunctorily at them as she passes over their menus. Even their accents don’t seem to draw any undue attention as she takes their drink orders and heads off.

“The manager thinks you're quite charming,” Blaise observes, keeping his tone neutral as he checks whether the diner’s offering have changed in the last twelve hours.

This time Luna's smile is a little wistful, a little crooked, and she looks away. There's a scar on her cheek, earned during her time at Malfoy Manor, and just for a moment the sunlight coming through the windows casts it into sharp relief. “Does he?” she asks vaguely.

If Blaise knows anything, it’s attraction, and he hums in confirmation, pretending to be caught up in the truly riveting breakfast section. They're both running, in their own ways. This trip is a vacation that’s stretched out into months at this point, and neither of them have so much as mentioned going back to Britain. Maybe it’s not an all-out bolt, their attempt to get away, but it’s certainly a retreat. The war is two years behind them, but it will never be gone.

“I’ll ask the maid,” Blaise decides, because she at least seemed polite enough, and pleased by his knowledge of Spanish, even if their dialects differ. Happily married, too, so the most she’d given Blaise was an appreciate once-over, which is far better than some reactions.

“She seems very wise in Muggle matters,” Luna agrees, and the little moment of darkness vanishes as she spreads her menu out in front of her. “Oh, French toast! Do you think there are other kinds as well, like with dragons? Romanian toast, and German toast, and Finnish toast! Maybe there's even British toast and we just haven’t noticed it yet.”

Blaise snorts, but before he can point out that Weasley's dragonkeeper brother would likely faint at the prospect of comparing dragons to toast, the waitress returns with Blaise's coffee and Luna's milkshake. They’ve both come to an agreement that the tea in America is largely not to be trusted.

“Ready to order, dears?” she asks, and Blaise glances over at Luna, raising a brow.

“Another moment, please,” Luna says bright. “I feel like I need Spectrospecs to decide.”

“You could spin the menu and point,” Blaise suggests, amused, though he flicks a glance at the waitress as she moves away, towards the booth he and Luna used the last few times they were here. The two men who are seated there currently hold his attention for a moment, mostly because the man facing him is handsome in a boyish, slightly rough way Blaise likes. They're both rumpled, clothes worn, and one is hunkered down behind a Muggle device Blaise has seen several people using, though he has yet to figure out what it’s for when it’s barely thicker than a book and looks like a small pane of glass. The other is the one with the nice face, and he’s fiddling with a packet of sugar, slumped back in the seat like he’s entirely at home there.

Blaise looks down before he can be caught looking, to find Luna doing what he suggested, and is just in time to tug her milkshake out of the way as she stabs a finger down. Leaning over as she opens her eyes, he raises a brow, and says, “I think you're allowed a do-over.”

“Deep-fried pickles,” Luna says thoughtfully. “I'm not sure how I feel about that.”

“Do-over,” Blaise says, and gives the menu another light spin. “I don’t think that counts as breakfast, regardless of its status as food. However dubious.”

“The house elves at Hogwarts certainly never made anything like that,” Luna agrees serenely, but she puts her finger down again, then opens one eye and smiles. “Oh, pancakes and strawberries! I like that.”

Ordering the same thing sounds far more appealing than putting effort into picking something out for himself, so Blaise closes his menu and sets it aside. “Two of that, then,” he agrees.

Once the waitress has been by to take their order, Luna sinks back in her seat, pulling her legs up under herself. “Where shall we go next?” she asks brightly.

“You mean if the car can be fixed?” Blaise pulls a face, though it’s not as though he doesn’t have the funds for another car, should it prove easier to simply replace theirs. Getting it will be a headache, though; he’ll have to Apparate to the nearest large city and have his gold exchanged for Muggle currency, and then Apparate back, which will likely take a few days. Too many Apparations close together and he risks splinching himself. “Where exactly are we now?”

Luna tips to the side, squinting out the window at the street. “Two Oaks,” she says. “We passed the sign as we drove in.”

It takes a bit of digging, but Blaise manages to unearth their map from the depths of his bag, and he spreads it out between them, squinting down at the tiny writing. The New York City Apparition point offered maps, but they all seem to be outdated; Blaise found this one at a petrol station a few days ago, and it’s vastly different and far more accurate, thankfully.

There are, however, at least ten towns he can see with the same name, and he tries to remember any other towns they passed, but the names have mostly blurred together in his mind. They're somewhere in the middle of the state of Texas, but beyond that—

“Here,” Luna says, leaning over the table to trace her finger down a thin blue squiggle. “This is the river the manager said we could swim in. The Black River.”

Blaise hopes the name isn't an indication of its look, at least color-wise. The location of the river does make it easier to find the town, though, and he taps his finger against it, scanning the surrounding area. “Is there anything that calls to you?” he asks, and—if only the others in his year could see him now. Draco in particular always complained that Blaise was far too rigid, incapable of having fun or even playing a friendly round of Quidditch without a strict plan. He’d laugh himself sick at the knowledge that Blaise is in the middle of the Muggle world, only vaguely aware of his location, with Loony Lovegood and no idea of where to go next.

Blaise rather thinks it’s the best vacation he’s ever taken, honestly. Road-tripping across Muggle America with a tabloid heiress and war hero, eating strange food and sleeping in questionable accommodations is a world away from blood purity arguments and the enduring press of reconstruction. This is a longer trip, perhaps, than either of them planned, but—

Well. Blaise had walked out of the last funeral for one of their classmates and decided he was entirely sick of it all. Sick at heart, in a way he’d once thought himself incapable of, and learning that he was just as effected by grief and sorrow and loss as the rest of the world was a good thing, but…not worth the Carrows.

Nothing would be worth the Carrows.

In light of that, in light of this newfound sense of distance, Blaise looks up, looks away from the map and their potential plan. He doesn’t care; wherever they go, it will be better than what they left, and that’s good enough for him.

“We should get pie,” he says on a whim, because he _lets_ himself follow whims now. When Luna glances up at him, blinking, he clarifies, “For our picnic.”

Luna’s smile says she sees what he’s thinking, what drives the words. “We should,” she agrees, and looks back down at the map. “Look, Blaise, this place is named the Devil’s Boot! Do you think they’re keeping it safe for him? Has he noticed yet that he’s lost it?”

“Do you notice when _you_ lose your boots?” Blaise counters.

Luna beams at him. “That’s what I have you for.”

…Well. Blaise supposes there are worse things to be tasked with. Still, he rolls his eyes, and Luna laughs, sweeping her finger across the map. Where she stops is empty land, but she hums and tips her head, staring down at it.

“Three rivers come together here,” she says thoughtfully. “That’s rather splendid, isn’t it? I think I want to go here next.”


	2. Chapter 2

Luna's next chosen destination is south of where they currently are, though only a few hours’ distance, likely. Blaise checks the closest town, then digs into his bag again and comes up with a self-inking quill. The ink is Ravenclaw sapphire, and it makes Luna laugh as he circles the town, then the place that she indicated.

“Lone Pine it is,” Blaise says, and frowns down at the map. “I sense a theme when it comes to naming.”

“The Muggles are quite creative,” Luna agrees dreamily. She folds the map, because Blaise is eternally unable to correctly return it to its folded state, and hands it back, and Blaise shoves it back into his bag. Luna’s eyes follow the motion, and she says, “We should go to a city soon. Harry’s probably worried about us.”

 _Worried about_ you _, you mean_ , Blaise almost says, but the words jam on his tongue, refuse to come out. Potter was the one to find him by the Black Lake, several weeks after the start of their remedial eighth year. He’d sat down next to Blaise, and even though they’d barely shared a civil word, even though Blaise was a Slytherin and he was the Chosen One, he’d said _Hannah said you kept distracting the Carrows, kept them away from the rest of the students when you could. Thank you_.

 _They wanted my mother’s support. And besides, I didn’t do it for you_ , Blaise had retorted, and—it made Potter _smile_.

 _Yeah_ , he’d said. _That’s why I’m saying thanks, Zabini_.

Potter is strange, and incomprehensible, but maybe Blaise can understand a little better why Draco was always so distracted by him throughout their years at Hogwarts. Can understand, a bit, why Potter’s friends seem to love him so fiercely.

“Trans-Atlantic owls are a headache and a half,” he answers, because Luna is still watching him. “But I’m sure your father will be glad to hear from you as well.”

Luna’s smile is dreamy, and she picks up her paper napkin, unfolding it and then starting to refold it into a phoenix. “I have three new stories for the Quibbler. I think he’ll be quite pleased with them. America has so many interesting creatures and legends. Oh! When we reach the west coast, I want to see if we can find Bigfoot. He must have some very interesting stories to tell after all these years.”

“Bigfoot,” Blaise agrees obediently, and makes a mental note to ask the maid if she knows where to find such a creature. Luna works off hunches and impulses, but it’s good to have at least a broad area to head for, if they’re looking for one of her creatures.

“Charlie mentioned him!” Luna says, and looks up at the waitress with a smile as she returns bearing their plates. “I think he said Bigfoot is a cousin of the Yeti, but a Ukrainian Ironbelly had burned half his face so it was a little hard to understand him past the burn cream.”

Blaise winces. If he needed any proof of the Weasley family’s insanity, even discounting Ron’s friendship with Potter, the second-eldest would be more than proof enough. “Anyone who faces down dragons for a living is mad,” he says, and picks up his fork to poke suspiciously at a pile of whipped cream that supposedly covers the pancakes underneath, though he can’t see any sign of them right now.

“He has quite a lot of fun with it, though,” Luna says, which hardly disproves Blaise’s point. When he levels an incredulous look at her, she smiles dreamily and pops a slice of strawberry into her mouth. “Wouldn’t it be grand to discover a new species of dragon?”

“They tend to be a bit noticeable,” Blaise points out dryly. “I rather think all of them have been found. A side effect of spending most of the Middle Ages burning villages.”

“Only a few breeds are that aggressive,” Luna defends loyally. “And humans were expanding into dragon territories.”

Blaise accepts that reasoning with a tip of his head. It’s more reason to attack others than most humans have, honestly. “Maybe there’s a small species that no one’s found yet,” he offers.

“ _Oh_ ,” Luna says, enchanted. “Small like a Bowtruckle? Or small like a cat, do you think?”

For a moment Blaise weighs the options. “Small like a cat,” he decides. “Just large enough to sit on your shoulder and growl at people you don’t like while you’re in meetings with wedding planners.”

Luna laughs loudly, her pale eyes bright. “For your mother’s eighth husband?”

“Tenth, at this point,” Blaise says, unimpressed with the very thought. His mother is getting far more blatant about such things. Or maybe her suitors are simply getting more stupid. Neither of the last two lasted more than six months, which is a record turnover even for Aurora Zabini. At least they were wealthy.

“They don’t make her very happy, do they?” Luna asks thoughtfully, licking whipped cream off her fork. “I hope she finds someone who does.”

She won’t. It’s not quite a curse on their bloodline, on their ancestors who were more magic than human. Or, at least, it isn’t _entirely_. Blaise’s mother chose to use gifts that they aren’t meant to, and such things leave a mark. She got the wealth she wanted, and she’s always been pleased enough with that, so Blaise doubts she minds, but she’ll never truly find what she seems to be looking for, now that she’s made her choice.

Blaise isn’t sure if he’ll make the same one. He _could_ , of course; it’s as much his birthright as it was his mother’s, and once he’d planned on nothing more. But then the war happened, and the Carrows, and that dark, dark year when he’d worked and strained and felt things that had previously been entirely foreign to him. Things he hadn’t _tried_ to feel, and didn’t particularly care to. The emotions brought understanding, though, as unwelcome as it was, and given that Blaise doesn’t think he’d surrender the experiences, even if he could banish the suffering with them.

“My mother is her own person,” Blaise says at length, trying to fit the realization into words.

“And so are you,” Luna says, more softly, and her expression is vague but sweet as she draws looping swirls in her whipped cream.

Blaise doesn’t confirm or deny, looks away instead. The pancakes seem overly sugary and unappealing, but he forces himself to take a bite, and is mildly surprised to find that they're actually rather good; the berries are a little tart, the cream is lightly sweetened, and the pancakes have a touch of nutmeg to them, warm on his tongue. Blaise supposes he should have expected such a thing. The whole journey has been an exercise in learning not to rest too heavily on his assumptions.

When they’ve finished and paid and are heading out, the men occupying their regular booth are still there. Plates are pushed aside, cups are half-full of coffee, and though the man with short hair seems to be distracted looking out the window, the bigger, long-haired one is still bent over his Muggle device. It almost looks like a two-way mirror, Blaise thinks with a flicker of vague interest, but Luna is already out the door and he doesn’t want to pause to ask. He quickens his step, and as he does the short-haired man glances over at him.

 _Oh_ , Blaise thinks as their eyes meet. He is…quite attractive. But that’s not what catches Blaise's attention. Instead, it’s the sharpness of his eyes, the focus as his gaze flickers down in assessment, rises up. Only then does he flash Blaise a bright, cocky smile, full of charm.

Blaise is used to charm, though. He’s used to dangerous men at this point, too. Muggles aren’t supposed to be a danger, not _really_ , but—

This one is, he thinks, meeting green eyes for just a moment. Inclines his head, just a little, and sees the man pause. It’s enough, because then Blaise is past him, slipping out the door and following Luna back towards the motel.

The prickle of eyes on the back of his neck doesn’t fade even once the diner is out of sight.

 

 

“Looks like one of the hoses for the transmission fluid came loose,” the repairman for the car says, frowning as he roots around in the engine.

“Is that bad?” Luna asks, leaning over his shoulder with interest. Blaise keeps well back; he’s already been unfortunate enough to learn what motor oil does to his clothes, and isn't eager for a repeat experience.

The man grunts, not looking up. “You said it was jerking when you pulled in?”

“Yes.” Luna blinks, tipping her head. “Rather like it was trying to jump out from under us, I would say.”

“Then your transmission is probably shot.” The man straightens, wiping his hands on a rag, then glances up at Blaise, pauses with a conflicted expression, and turns to Luna. “If you want it replaced, it will probably cost a few thousand dollars and take a week or two.”

“Oh,” Luna says, and no one does vague disappointment as heat-crushingly as she does. She glances up at Blaise, then asks, “Would it be better to buy a new one, do you think?”

The repairman pauses, like he’s taken aback, and then says, “It would probably be quicker, at least. And you might be able to get a deal on something nicer. This one’s a junker. I'm surprised it made it all the way from New Jersey.”

Luna frowns, clearly wanting to defend the car, but Blaise has no such sentimental attachments. The back seats are cramped anyways. “Is there a place you would recommend buying one?” he asks.

“My brother-in-law owns the used car lot down on Weskitt,” the man says, nodding in what’s likely the direction of the street. “He’s closed on Tuesdays, but he’ll be around tomorrow if you want to check out what he has. He’ll probably buy this one for parts, too, if you don’t have other plans for it.”

“Thank you,” Blaise says, and tosses Luna his wallet so she can pay the man. “Luna, anything in particular you’d like for dinner?”

“Pie,” Luna says immediately, expression brightening. “Cherry, please. Oh! Or apple.”

Blaise considers arguing, but one look at her face and he can't bring himself to. It was his suggestion, after all. “All right,” he says in surrender, though he makes a note to pick up at least one other meal as well. Luna will eat it if it’s presented to her, once her pie craving is fulfilled.

By the time he makes it back from the diner with their food for the evening, the repairman is gone, and so is the car. Luna is seated in the parking space, wrapping a length of thick tubing into a bracelet.

“I said he could take the car to his brother-in-law, since we won't be needing it again,” Luna says, before Blaise can ask, and raises her wrist. “He gave me the hose that came loose, too.”

It’s hardly Luna's strangest jewelry choice. Blaise nods in acceptance, and offers her a hand. “Shall we find some Moon Frogs, then?”

Luna clasps his fingers, lets him pull her to her feet. “Do you think they hop from star to star on their way down?” she asks, and falls into step with him as they head out of the lot, turning down the highway and out of town. “Someone once brought a bag of them to earth on a Cleansweep, but I can't imagine that’s a comfortable ride.”

“Cleansweeps never are,” Blaise says disdainfully, and checks the position of the sun. Low and getting lower; they may end up walking in the dark after all, despite his efforts to prevent it.

Luna skips three steps, her bare feet kicking up red dust. “Brooms have a very interesting history, don’t they?” she asks thoughtfully. “Though I do wish they still allowed magic carpets.”

“My mother has one,” Blaise says, then pauses, wondering if _had_ is more accurate. It was in her third husband’s estate, and she’s sold at least two of his properties in Morocco that Blaise can remember. “I believe it had racing spells on it, though I was never allowed to try it.”

“Carpet racing!” Luna says, delighted. “I think I’d like to see that.”

“We can tour Africa next,” Blaise proposes, smiling faintly. And—it’s not practical, really, but right now he could easily see himself spending the rest of his life just like this, traveling with Luna across unfamiliar countries, barefoot and without a destination. It’s not an objectionable way to be, he’s coming to find.

“I’ll bring lots of sunblock,” Luna agrees, because she’s entirely taken by the Muggle invention. Blaise supposes that if he sunburned as easily as her, he’d appreciate it, too.

“A destination for after our tour of the colonies,” he says dryly, and Luna laughs, bending down without pausing to scoop up a rock that’s lying on the white line. It looks entirely ordinary to Blaise, but when she hands it over he obediently slips it into a pocket of his satchel without questioning her.

“Your mother might be getting married again at that point,” she says. “We could go to the wedding and scandalize everyone by dressing like Muggles.”

Blaise laughs, entirely able to picture his mother’s face. Exasperation, resignation, long-suffering humor, and she had that same reaction when Blaise told her he was departing England with Xenophilius Lovegood’s daughter to take a tour of America and didn’t expect to return for a few years at least.

(She never acknowledged the demands of the Death Eaters when they went to threaten her into supporting them, has never brought up to Blaise the fact that she wouldn’t give in even when his safety was on the line. Blaise understands it, and he wouldn’t have wanted her to do anything less; the Zabini family has been neutral since the first emperor of Rome, and neither of them will change the family tradition regardless of threats levied. But—

Some small bit of regret for what he’d suffered, if not for her decision, would have been appreciated.)

“You could wear jewelry all made from car hoses,” he tells Luna. “And I could wear a Muggle suit and sunglasses.”

The burst of Luna's laughter is bright, and she skips forward, whirls around like a dancer with her skirts spinning out and her hair flying. “In yellow!” she says. “You should always wear sun colors to weddings!”

Blaise snorts, entirely unable to imagine himself in a sun-yellow suit. He’d pull it off, of course, but it wouldn’t be his first choice. Or his hundredth. “Green is traditional in Italy,” he says. “For fertility.”

Luna hums, and the beetles painted on her nails shimmer and flutter their wings as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’d look much better in green,” she acknowledges, looking Blaise over. “I suppose it amounts to the same thing, really, since they're both lucky colors.”

“Yellow would suit you far better than it would me,” Blaise agrees, and turns his head away from the roar of a passing truck. The smell of exhaust makes him wrinkle his nose, and he takes three long steps off the pavement so he’s walking on the dry earth. He doesn’t trust that a particularly unobservant Muggle won't take them out on accident, and he’s not in the mood to learn how well a Shield Charm works against a car. In the distance, he can see the curve of the river where the road crosses it, the green of grass and the jut of boulders. “West?” he asks.

Luna nods, skipping a few steps. “Towards the sunset!” she says, pointing. “There's a road along the river, too. Walking should be easy.”

Given that Blaise wasn’t overly eager to traipse across private property on their excursion, this suits him perfectly well. “If we drown looking for Moon Frogs,” he warns Luna, “Draco will laugh at my funeral, and no one deserves that.”

“Draco does tend to think he’s funnier than he is.” Luna sounds thoughtful, and Blaise laughs, picturing Draco’s face if he could hear her say that. If getting letters back to England wasn’t such a pain, Blaise would send him the memory immediately.

“He does, doesn’t he,” he says, smirking, and—

“Though,” Luna adds, and spins in place again, so that her words come out vaguely distorted, “he’s gotten a lot funnier since the war.”

Blaise loses most of his humor on a grimace, turns his face away. Since the war, Draco has gone through more changes than Blaise had ever thought possible; Blaise wasn’t the only one Potter reached out to during their remedial year, but the change in Draco is far more drastic. There was always more to change there, of course, but it’s still an impressive thing. Between Potter’s influence and what Draco went through before and during the war, he’s…different.

“Better than losing what small bits of humor he had before it,” Blaise says, though the words feel a little rough in his throat.

Luna’s hand finds his, and he’s pulled forward, spinning with her all of a sudden. Blaise makes a sound of indignation, but doesn’t otherwise resist, and Luna twirls them through the empty road, her long hair flying. “The world looks nicer, sometimes, when you’re spinning,” she says, beaming at Blaise, and Blaise huffs. When she comes to a stop, though, he doesn’t let go.

“If we get killed by Muggle vehicles after surviving Voldemort, we’ll bring shame on both our families,” Blaise points out, and tugs her back towards the side of the road.

Tipping her head, Luna considers that for a long moment. “I rather think my father would never be ashamed of me,” she says thoughtfully. “As long as I was happy. Isn’t your mother the same?”

Blaise has honestly never considered it before, and he hesitates now, wondering. Their family is an old one, descended from a long line of wizards and witches with both magical and political power, and he’s been raised with the ever-present knowledge that he’s the heir, that their family name is a weighty one due all of his reverence. But—his mother, as a person, has always been the type to push him towards what he wants when he hesitates. She wanted him to go to Beauxbatons, friendlier to those with mixed magical blood, but when he’d said he wanted to go to Hogwarts instead, she’d instantly made arrangements.

There’s always been an element of freedom in his life that he doesn’t see in other people like Theo or Draco, or even Pansy. If he told his mother tomorrow that he wanted to stay in the Muggle world and grow dandelions for a living, she’d be confused, likely, but he can’t see her telling him _not_ to.

“Yes,” he tells Luna, and it feels like a revelation, even though it’s likely something he’s always known. “I think she is.”

Luna smiles, twisting their fingers together and squeezing. “There you are, then,” she says, like that’s the point of everything, and glances back towards town just as the sound of an engine comes clear. Blaise looks too, and raises a brow at Luna in question, since he can't see anything remarkable.

“It’s very square and boxy, isn't it?” Luna asks, though her tone is hardly a condemnation, far closer to delighted. She pulls away from Blaise and lifts a hand, waving as the car approaches. It slows, pulls over towards the side of the road slightly, and the window closest to them rolls down.


	3. Chapter 3

The two men inside are the ones from this morning at the diner. The shorter, handsome one is driving, and the one with longer hair is in the passenger seat, watching them with something that looks like it doesn’t know whether to be concern or wariness.

“Is everything all right?” he asks carefully. “This isn't the best place for walking.”

Blaise frowns, wondering if Muggles have some sort of rule about people walking on roads, or maybe this town in particular does. He’s seen other people walking in other places, after all. Before he can figure out a way to ask, though, Luna leans against the door with a laugh.

“Our car broke,” she says, “but we’re going to have a picnic at the river. We’re _hunting_.”

The two men freeze, then exchange looks. “Hunting,” the shorter one says, and his voice is skeptical. “With a _picnic_.”

“For dinner,” Luna says, though she had to have noticed the weight to the word in the man’s tone. “The moon isn't full tonight, but we thought we’d try anyway.”

There's an odd look on the driver’s face, and he glances from Luna to Blaise. Blaise meets his stare, arching a brow, and then steps close enough to touch Luna's arm. “Luna,” he says. “They seem to be on their way somewhere. We should let them go.”

“No,” the bigger man blurts, and this companion levels a look of irritation at the side of his head. “We were on our way to the river, too. Uh, want a ride?”

“Sammy,” the driver starts, annoyed, but Luna beams.

“Thank you!” she says. “That will get us there quite a bit faster, won't it, Blaise?”

Blaise strangles a sigh, gives the driver a smile that’s slightly crooked. Clearly, they're not going to have any say in this. “Significantly,” he allows, and as Sammy opens the door he steps back, giving the man room. When Sammy glances at him, he tips his head and offers, “Thank you for the ride.”

“Sure.” Sammy gives him a smile, opening the rear door for them. Immediately, Luna wiggles past him, dropping onto the wide seat with a sound of delight.

“Oh, it’s _lovely_ ,” she says, running her hand over the leather. “Much nicer than our car was.”

An expression of pride flickers over the driver’s face, only to be buried a moment later by mistrust. “Thanks,” he says. “She’s a ‘67 Impala. Not something you see a lot of in England, right?”

Even _Draco_ is less conspicuous when he’s fishing for information, Blaise thinks, amused, and when Luna is settled he slides into the back as well, maneuvering his legs out of the way as Sammy puts the seat forward a little to give them room. “Not that I've encountered,” he allows. “Though we haven’t seen many here in the States, either.”

“She’s a very boxy car, isn't she?” Luna asks vaguely, mostly distracted as she peers out the rear window. She gets a knee on the seat and turns around, peering back towards town, and then says, “Blaise, look!”

Blaise automatically turns, then stops. There's an owl right behind them, above the road; he catches just a flash of pale feathers and tawny eyes before it’s wheeling away, towards the motel they left minutes ago. There haven’t been many owls out in daylight, at least not that Blaise has seen, and he suspects it’s carrying a letter meant for them.

“Should we go back?” he asks Luna, noncommittal. Contact from their world isn't something he’s eager for, but Luna at least has family and friends who might be looking for her.

Luna hums, then shakes her head. “The sun is almost down,” she says. “And I’d like to see the river tonight.”

“The river it is, then.” The driver puts the car in gear again and pulls back onto the road; Blaise catches the flash of his eyes glancing at them in the mirror. “Been in Texas long?”

“Dean,” Sammy says, something close to a warning.

Before he can finish, though, Blaise meets Dean’s gaze, and says, “A few days. We were in New Orleans before this for a handful of weeks.”

“Fun city,” is Dean’s response, and his eyes go back to the road.

Sammy makes a face, but he half-turns in his seat to give Luna a smile. “I'm Sam,” he says. “And this is my brother Dean.”

“Luna Lovegood,” Luna says, and beams at him. When she offers a hand, Sam takes it, looking faintly bemused, and eyes the hose around her wrist but says nothing about it.

“And you?” Dean asks, and his eyes find Blaise in the mirror again. “Got a name, or does your girlfriend do all the talking?”

Blaise snorts softly. “Luna is hardly my _girlfriend_ ,” he says, amused. “And I'm Blaise Zabini. It’s a pleasure.”

“A pleasure, huh.” Dean’s voice is droll, and he makes the turn off the highway and onto the road alongside the river without looking back. “So what part of the river are we going to, exactly?”

Luna leans forward between the front seats, peering ahead of them. “There!” she says brightly, pointing to a row of huge tumbled stones. “There's a secret path there, and a bay.” Then she pauses, tilting her head, and asks, “Is it still a bay if it’s in a river, instead of the sea?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam says. “A cove, maybe?”

“Cove,” Luna repeats thoughtfully, and smiles. “I like that! A river cove, where we’ll go hunting!”

Again, the word makes both Sam and Dean tense, just a little. Blaise sinks back in his seat, eyeing both of them, and—it’s a little strange. Dangerous, maybe; Muggles can be a threat, too, where other Muggles are involved. It’s not something Blaise had thought to address, because he and Luna both have magic, but he considers it from the perspective of two Muggles, picked up while wandering down the road by two strange men. That’s a lot more dangerous, really.

Carefully, deliberately, Blaise shifts his wand in its holder along his arm, covered by his sleeve, and knows Luna catches the movement. She only flicks the barest glance at him, though, before she’s leaning forward again, studying the road. “Oh, look,” she says. “There's even a place to park!”

“Not that we’ll need it,” Blaise says dryly.

Luna makes a sad sound. “It’s a shame the car died,” she agrees. As Dean brings the car to a stop in the curve of gravel, she says, “Oh, you should come down and eat with us! We have lots of extra food. And pie!”

There's a pause as Sam stares at Dean, and Dean looks back, the two clearly having a conversation that strangers aren’t privy to. Then, all at once, Dean slaps the steering wheel and shoves the door open. “I could be down for pie,” he says, something close to cocky, and gives Blaise a grin that sits too well on his face. Blaise wonders if the fact that he’s handsome would reduce the danger, were he and Luna Muggles, or increase it, and decides on the latter. As he’s learned all too well from his mother, attraction is a danger all its own.

“Dean,” Sam says, exasperated. “Weren’t we _going somewhere_?”

The words are pointed, clearly meant to get Dean back in the car, but Dean ignores is, and opens the rear door before Blaise can reach for the handle. “Cool it, Sammy,” he says lightly. “Don’t you want to have a picnic?”

Sam rolls his eyes, but offers Luna a smile when she gets out. “You like owls?” he asks. “That’s what that bird was, right?”

Luna gives him a dreamy smile in return. “They're very useful, aren’t they?” she asks, and skips across the road to the edge of the boulders, peering through the shadows. Then, with a sound of victory, she slides through a gap between two of the largest stones and vanishes.

“Useful,” Dean repeats, and he’s eyeing Blaise again.

Blaise shoulders his satchel with a tip of his head. “They keep the mice down,” he says mildly, and follows Luna. The start of the path is almost invisible, but just past the edge of the rocks the trail comes clear, and he picks his way down the steep slope, watching the bob of Luna's pale head below as she skids down to the sandy bank, then turns and waves.

“Pull your tights up before you go wading,” Blaise calls down to her, because they won't be able to use drying charms with Muggles around, and the air is getting chillier as night falls.

Luna looks down at her rainbow tights, then pauses. “I suppose they’d scare the fish,” she says thoughtfully. “They’re probably not used to rainbows, are they?”

Behind Blaise, Dean makes a sound of amusement. “She’s got her priorities straight, huh?”

“Luna,” Blaise says coolly, “is cleverer than the vast majority of the population, and if you write her off as loony, you’re making the same mistake that _many_ people have made and then regretted.” He picks up his pace, and he’s all too aware of how people tend to take Luna, given how she acts and dresses, used to feel the same way about her himself, but—the Carrows’ occupation of Hogwarts and the battle that came afterwards were enough to thoroughly change his mind. Luna was tortured for weeks, survived, escaped, led an army. Potter, Weasley, and Granger brought Voldemort down, but Luna was a key part in defeating his forces. Blaise is never going to forget that.

By the time Blaise makes it down to the shore, Luna is already in the water up to her calves, skirts hitched up and tights pulled above her knees. “It’s warm,” she tells Blaise delightedly. “We should go swimming.”

“After we eat,” Blaise says, and swings the satchel down, then pulls out the blanket Luna recovered from the car. This is hardly the first time they’ve ended up picnicking on the side of the road, after all. There’s an expansion charm on the bag, but he can likely get away with pulling out most of the food, if he’s careful. The pies, at least, are easy to get to, and Dean eyes them with interest as he sets them aside.

“From the diner?” he asks. “Their stuff’s not bad.”

Blaise glances up, about to answer, but his eyes catch on a flicker of movement on the far bank and he pauses. Something pale, there and gone in an instant, he thinks, and rises to his feet. “Luna,” he says, feeling a prickle down his spine, like eyes on them.

In the water, Luna turns to look at him, then spins to follow his gaze. After a long moment, and glances back, frowning a little. “Did you see something? A Crumple-Horned Snorkack?”

If Luna didn’t see it, Blaise is rather less inclined to trust his eyes. “As likely as anything,” he says dryly, and sinks back down onto the sand, not quite able to shake the feeling that there's something watching them. It’s…odd. This is a place that’s very determinedly Muggle, and they haven’t encountered so much as a stray spell since they crossed the border. Maybe it’s a reaction to his thoughts about Sam and Dean, the danger of them if he and Luna were Muggles themselves, and Blaise forces himself to relax, sink down, focus on something else. A splash shows Luna is back to hunting Moon Frogs, sweeping her fingertips through the shallows as she peers down, and she at least doesn’t seem bothered.

Dean does, though. When Blaise reaches out to dump a few bottles of water on the sand, he’s a little startled to see that Dean has gone tense and wary, eyes sweeping the far bank with quick, wide sweeps, a hand under his jacket in a way that feels like a wizard putting a hand on a wand. Blaise blinks, then risks a glance over at Sam, who’s equally wary, and has edged three long steps towards the water. Towards _Luna_ , and Blaise can't tell if it’s because he thinks she’s a threat or if he thinks that she’s in need of rescue. Either way, he’s laughably mistaken.

“Did you see something?” Blaise asks Dean, taking another look at the far shore.

“No, but—you wouldn’t be the first person to catch something strange down here.” It’s Sam who answers, very carefully taking a seat on a rock. He’s trying for a smile, but it doesn’t quite sit right on his face. “Local legends, that kind of thing.”

Blaise frowns. Muggle legends don’t seem like the greatest risk, certainly not enough so to warrant that sort of reaction. Distantly, Blaise is aware that Muggles can be superstitious, but he hasn’t found it to be particularly common so far in their travels. Are these two, then? That may be…inconvenient.

Just as he’s opening his mouth to ask what precise legends they're referring to, though, there's a splash, and Luna wades back to the bank, gliding across the sand and collapsing on the blanket beside Blaise. She has three white stones cupped in her palms, and she offers them to Blaise with a smile.

“It’s like they glow,” she says, delighted.

Blaise takes them, rolling his eyes, but still tucks them in the pocket of his bag without comment. “Any frogs?” he asks.

Luna hums, sorting through the containers Blaise has laid out and finally coming up with a box of fries. “None yet,” she says, but it sounds more or less cheerful. “I think they're waiting for the moon to come up.” Holding out the box, she offers Sam a fry. “Soggy chip?”

Instead of looking at her like she’s crazy, Sam smiles a little, reaching out to take one. “Thanks,” he says, and takes a bite without wincing. Blaise admires his fortitude, even though he wants to wince a little just looking at it. “So where are you guys going after here? Or are you planning to stick around?”

“Only until we can replace the car,” Blaise says, disdainful, and picks out a plastic fork to lever a slice of cherry pie out of its tin. A shadow falls over him as he does, and he casts a bemused look up at Dean as he leans closer. “I take it you’d like a slice?” he asks dryly.

Dean's grin is as charming as he can make it. Which is, Blaise is willing to admit, rather charming indeed. “Well, if you're offering,” he returns, and when Blaise drops the slice on a napkin and passes it over, he takes it eagerly.

“I was looking at the map,” Luna tells Sam, “and it seems like there are a lot of places where the devil lost something. There’s even a Devil’s Cup and Saucer Island, isn't that funny? I’d like to see them, if we can. The Devil’s Boot is closest, and right where three rivers meet, too. Those are special places, and I quite enjoy them.”

“Special places?” Sam echoes, and when Luna offers him another fry he takes it, sliding down off the rock to sit in the sand beside her. “What do you mean?”

“The Nargles don’t like them,” Luna says cheerfully. “When they're in places like that, they stop making trouble. I think it’s because of the resonance of the name-runes. The arithmancy usually adds up to something very pretty.”

Across from Blaise, Dean's expression twists in confusion, and he looks from Blaise to Luna and back again, brows rising. Blaise rolls his eyes, waving him off; he’s never been entirely certain how likely the Nargles are to actually exist, and almost a year of traveling hasn’t done much to sway his opinion in either direction. As far as arithmancy goes, Blaise could calculate that with a bit of effort, but he’s never bothered. If Luna says she wants to go there, they’ll go. Blaise wants to see a redwood tree before they leave America, but beyond that, he doesn’t have any preferences.

“I hope you find a place without Nargles,” Luna says, giving Sam a kind smile. “You look like you need it.”

Apparently bored of her food, she abandons the takeout container, leans over to steal the slice of pie Blaise just took for himself, and twirls away, bare feet raising a spray of sand only when she’s safely away from the blanket. “I'm going to look for more frogs!” she calls, and then she’s splashing back into the water, laughing to herself as she goes.

Sam gets to his feet as well, and after a second’s hesitation he pulls off his boots and rolls up his jeans. “What kind of frogs?” he asks, following Luna into the river’s shallows.

“Moon Frogs.” Luna beams at him, and drops a cherry into the water. “They're white, and they glow. And they're about the size of a fwooper’s eye.”

“What are they for?” Sam asks. “Are they special, or—?”

“For?” Tilting her head, Luna blinks her pale eyes at him in confusion. “They're Moon Frogs. They just _are_.”

Long and slow, Dean whistles, though he doesn’t do it loud enough for Luna or Sam to hear as they head upriver. “Sammy’s _interested_ ,” he says, and Blaise has seen an elder sibling’s glee more than enough times to recognize this for what it is.

With an amused hum, he takes a slice of the apple pie and settles back, stretching one leg out in the sand. Luna is telling Sam a story, by the motion of her hands and the flying cherries, and he can't help but smile a little. “Luna likes a good listener,” he says vaguely, and when Dean glances at him, he raises a brow in return, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Yeah?” Dean asks after a moment, though his eyes are sharp. “That why you came along on her trip?”

Blaise smiles thinly. “This is _our_ trip,” he says. “Luna navigates, but I'm not just trailing along in her wake. No more than you're trailing after your brother.”

That makes Dean's eyes darken, just a little, and he looks away, mouth going just a bit tighter. Focuses on his pie for a moment, finishing off the last of it, and then says, “Long way to come for a road trip. Pretty different from England, too.”

“That’s _why_ we came,” Blaise says dryly. Another glance at Luna proves she’s entirely occupied, and has roped Sam into lifting some of the larger rocks with her in her search. She’s laughing, though, and he’s grinning, so apparently it’s not too onerous a task. One look back at Dean after, and—

Blaise follows his gaze to the far side of the river, and with other voices, other bodies, it’s easy to dismiss what he thought he saw as a trick of the light. Dean, though, looks wary, eyes lingering on the tumbled stone and long grasses.

“Are you from Two Oaks?” Blaise asks, because the habit of small-talk is one that’s been drilled into his head since he was a child. Silence is fine when he’s alone with Luna, but with a stranger, it’s unacceptable.

“Traveling,” Dean says easily, though a muscle in his jaw twitches just a little. “We’re running an errand for a friend.”

It’s perfectly uninformative, and Blaise casts Dean a look, but doesn’t press. Smiles, instead, thin and a little sly, and says, “Hypothetically, how would you react if your brother ended up dunked in the river?”

Dean blinks, glancing over at Sam in surprise. “Why, are you gonna—”

There's a yelp, a splash, and Luna's bright, ringing laughter. “A _sinkhole_ ,” she crows, and Blaise rolls his eyes heavenward, not bothering to study the utterly predictable sight of Luna pulling herself out of a deep spot in the river, completely drenched and also delighted.

For a long moment, Dean says nothing, and then he makes a sound of disgust. “I’d feel like he’s _walking_ back to town,” he says, raising his voice on the last few words, and Sam, staggering upright as soon as he’s out of the deep water, gives him a dark, pissy look that puts anything Draco ever managed to shame. Still, even his annoyance can't last in the face of Luna's humor, and a moment later he’s letting her grab his arm and pull him up the shore, skirting the deep spot.


	4. Chapter 4

There's a huff, and Dean leans back on his hands, scanning the river again before he lifts his face to the darkening sky. “Not too bad a place,” he says, though there's something that’s just a little wistful in his face.

“Quiet,” Blaise agrees, and then, as Luna's laughter rings out again, he amends, “Mostly.”

Dean snorts, then leans forward to snag another piece of pie. Restless, Blaise thinks. Or maybe on guard. “Quiet’s always nice,” he says, though there's a bitter note to it. “Places like these aren’t usually as quiet as they look, though.”

Blaise considers the talk of legends, the strange feeling that’s not quite eyes, but more…attention, which lingers even now. He isn't entirely sure it’s hostile, but it’s _something_. And he wonders, just a little, what the maid would have said if he asked her about the Black River, or stories that have grown up around it. Even Muggle legends can have a touch of truth to them, probably, though Blaise doesn’t have the experience to say for certain.

“What legends have you heard about the river?” he asks, meeting Dean's green eyes. They're narrowed, wary, and he looks away after a moment.

“Gotta buy me a drink if you want me to tell you a story, sweetheart,” he drawls, and pushes to his feet. “You guys got a ride back into town?”

“We’ll manage,” Blaise says noncommittally, watching him. This is a particularly swift retreat, especially since Dean's spent every moment down here wary. Was it the question that spooked him to the point of wanting to leave, or something else entirely? “And I might take you up on that, if you're going to be in town another day or two.”

There's a flicker of surprise on Dean's face, like he wasn’t expecting a response, and Blaise smirks at him. If he thinks flirting will turn Blaise off, he’s entirely mistaken, and will have to try harder.

“Yeah,” Dean says after a moment. “We just might be.” Then he steps away, raising his voice and calling, “Yo, Sammy, let’s go! Still gotta pick up that book for Bobby.”

Sam leans around a stand of cattails, looking like he’s been caught off guard. “Dean?” he asks.

Dean jerks his head towards the car. “Come on,” he says. “Not a lot of daylight left if we want to find that place.”

For an instant, Sam hesitates, but then he turns to say something to Luna, offering her an apologetic smile. She smiles back, lifting one hand in a wave, and Sam turns, hauling himself up onto a rock and making his way back.

“Thanks for the food,” he tells Blaise as he pulls his boots back on, still dripping all over the sand. “Are you going to be okay out here? We can stop on our way back and—”

Blaise shakes his head, can't help the way his eyes slide to Dean, already halfway up the path back to the road. “We’ll be perfectly fine,” he says with some amusement. “Thank you for the ride.”

“No problem.” Sam flashes him a smile, then turns and follows his brother. Blaise watches both of them disappear through the gap in the stones, and a few minutes later he hears the sound of an engine starting, then wheels on pavement.

“Do you think it was something we said?” Luna asks, stepping up onto the shore. She pulls her wand out of the waistband of her skirt and flicks it, drying herself in an instant, and settles down next to Blaise on the blanket.

Blaise considers for a moment, even as he reaches for one of the takeout boxes and passes it over to her. “I think they're very odd, even for Muggles,” he finally says. “But I don’t know why.”

Luna hums, lifting a slice of grilled cheese sandwich out and inspecting it. “Dean seems very sad, doesn’t he?” she asks. “And Sam is quite frightened.”

A little taken aback, Blaise pauses. Weighs their interactions, and Sam and Dean's interactions with each other, and—he can't say for certain, but he feels like Luna is probably right. “I more would have said that Dean is scared,” he offers after a moment.

“Well, I suppose he is,” Luna says thoughtfully, “but I rather think Dean's made a choice, and Sam thinks he has to live with it.”

Blaise has no earthly idea how she came to that conclusion, and he isn't going to ask. Luna generally can't explain it well herself; she simply notices all the little things that most people miss, and builds them into a full picture. She’s nearly always correct, though, in Blaise's experience.

“Still no Moon Frogs?” he asks, rather than dwelling on it. Two strange Muggles matter very little to him, and even if he does buy Dean a drink, once they leave Two Oaks they’ll likely never see each other again. America is vast, after all, and vastly populated. Running into the same set of brothers elsewhere defies all odds.

“The moon’s still rising,” Luna points out, taking a bite of her sandwich. Then she pauses, looking Blaise over, and tips her head. “Did you see something again?”

“Just a feeling,” Blaise says. “I think Dean felt it too, though.”

Luna taps her nails against the bread, looking thoughtful. “You feel magic sometimes,” she says. “Maybe Dean can, too.”

Blaise frowns. He can feel such things because of his ancestry, the magical creatures that married into the Zabini line so long ago. But Dean feeling things like that should be impossible; he’s a Muggle, not a creature, and likely not a squib, either, since Sam seems equally Muggle. It doesn’t make sense. But at the same time, Dean was warier than Sam, tenser the whole time. Maybe it was a reflection of his personality, but Blaise doesn’t think so.

“Would you like to come swimming?” Luna asks, finishing her food and rising to her feet. She offers Blaise her hands with a bright smile, and Blaise snorts but takes them. Luna pulls him to his feet, then taps her wand against her skirts and transfigures her clothes into a swimsuit patterned with surprised-looking Nifflers.

With a sigh, Blaise shifts his own clothes, then follows her towards the river. “I tell you it feels like there's something watching us and you want to swim?” he asks, not quite a complaint but certainly close.

“If it’s watching, it isn't doing anything,” Luna points out, and slides into the water, ducking under the surface. She comes up looking like a very pale drenched cat, hair plastered to her head and eyes seeming even wider and more surprised than normal, and she turns and beams at Blaise. “Maybe if we’re having fun it will come out and join us.”

Blaise tests the temperature of the water with a foot, grimaces, and takes two long strides in, curling forward in a dive. The first shock is icy, but when he surfaces in the middle of the river, treading water against the lazy pull of the current, he’s already adjusting.

“This is not _warm_ ,” he tells Luna, offended.

Contentedly, Luna paddles out to join him. “Isn't it lovely?” she asks dreamily.

Blaise supposes there are far worse places to be, though he still pours a palmful of water over the top of her head, just to make a point.

 

 

“We could have at least _stopped_ ,” Sam complains, closing the door to their room with a thump.

Dean doesn’t bother looking up; Sam bitching at him is hardly something new. “Yeah, well, they looked like they were doing fine when we left,” he says, and wonders if it’s possible to lock the book Bobby sent them for in the car where Sam can't get to it. It’s supposed to have information related to breaking demon deals, and Dean's already twitchy about just picking it up from one of Bobby’s friends. If Sam reads it, or tries to talk about it with him, that might be enough to put him back in the grave, and Dean can't go through that again. Not when Cold Oak is barely behind them.

Thankfully, Sam doesn’t make any move to open the cloth-wrapped book, just starts pulling dry clothes out of his pack. He’s frowning, though, and when Dean raises an eyebrow at him, he hesitates and then says, “Luna and Blaise—do you think they're hunters?”

Dean honestly doesn’t have a damned clue. First there was that talk of dragons and Bigfoot in the diner, and all of Luna's mentions of hunting, and _something_ weird about that spot on the river. It’s hard to imagine a pair of hunters would be so willing to climb in a car with two strangers, though, and they didn’t seem to recognize either Sam or Dean. Maybe English hunters are different, though if Dean's using Luna as a yardstick they're _really_ fucking different.

“Either hunters or something we should be hunting,” he says bluntly, and tosses his bag on the bed, digging out a couple of knives that need sharpening. “I don’t know what’s up with the chick, but she’s got a couple of screw loose.”

“Dean,” Sam snaps. “She was fine, and she wasn’t some kind of creature—”

Dean rolls his eyes. He almost says _like Madison wasn’t, right_ , but—that wound is too fresh, too deep. He’s heard some of Sam's nightmares about it. “She’s not a regular human,” he points out. “Look, Sammy, I know you think she’s hot—”

“That’s not what this is about!” Sam protests, though Dean saw the way he looked at Luna when she smiled. It’s at least _partly_ what this is about. “If they're hunters, too, we should be helping them! You saw something at the river, didn’t you?”

“Not a damn thing,” Dean says stubbornly, and it’s even true. Blaise sure as hell thought he’d seen something, though, and even though he was good at acting like he’d brushed it off, he was wary the whole time. Dean saw his shift in the car, too, like he was putting some sort of weapon in reach. A knife, maybe: something small and easily concealed up his sleeve. Maybe not entirely unaware of the danger, then, but still more reckless than most hunters Dean has met.

“Marcus didn’t mention any recent deaths in the town,” Sam says, and he’s eyeing his computer in a way that says Dean's going to have to suffer through a post-research binge Sammy tomorrow.

Dean snorts. “Marcus didn’t say much of anything,” he points out. “He just wanted to get us out of his house.”

“Bobby warned us he didn’t like hunters,” Sam says. “The Black River has a Woman in White legend attached to it, doesn’t it?”

“Couple of them,” Dean confirms, putting the knife down with a sigh. Apparently they're not letting this go. It’s a better thing to focus on than the demon deal, at least, so he should probably be grateful. “Most of them are up the river a ways, though.”

Sam pauses, frowning thoughtfully. “Have you ever heard of one moving her territory before? If something pushed her out of where she normally haunted, could she change her location?”

Dean doesn’t like that idea at all. Women in White are generally tied to the place where they drowned their children, and one packing up and leaving seems like it shouldn’t be possible. With so many demons newly out in the world, though, Dean can't say for certain that it’s impossible. The world always seems to like to surprise them, anyway.

“We should check if there’s one around here first, before we go borrowing trouble,” he says, and finds his cell phone.

Sam rolls his eyes. “We as in me?” he asks sourly.

With a grin, Dean claps him on the shoulder. “Hey, yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Sammy.”

“And what are you going to be doing?” Sam can do unimpressed like no one else Dean has ever met.

“Calling Bobby,” Dean defends, raising his phone as proof. He doesn’t have to say what he’s intending to ask about; from the tightening of Sam's mouth, he can guess it’s Luna and Blaise. “Relax, Sammy. If Bobby or one of his contacts has heard of them, we can all get together and compare notes on whatever’s around here. Right now we’ve got too many stories, right?”

Sam pulls a face, but Dean knows he’s right. There are enough urban legends attached to this area to make sorting through them all a headache, and while the river’s particular set of stories makes it likely that what Blaise saw there was a Woman in White, it’s definitely not certain. It’s not even definite that he saw anything at all, but—it felt like they were being watched, and Dean is inclined to trust his instincts.

“Tell Bobby we got the book,” Sam says, unimpressed, and pulls his computer out of his duffle bag, settling it on the foot of the bed. Then he collects his dry clothes and marches into the bathroom, shutting the door loudly behind him.

Dean rolls his eyes, because Sam can throw a fit better than anyone he knows, and it’s clear he’s immediately jumped on the train with Blaise and Luna. Dean’s not about to do the same, though, even if they _are_ hunters. The memory of Gordon trying to kill Sam is a little close for comfort, too, especially in the wake of Cold Oak. Just because Luna’s pretty and a little light on sense doesn’t mean they’re both not dangerous.

Maybe it’s the contrast with Luna, but—Dean feels like that goes double for Blaise. He’s hot, and Dean only needed one glance in the diner to know that, but there’s something ever so faintly off about him. Possibly it’s the fact that he can’t be more than twenty-one, but he still moves like he eats idiots for breakfast and was raised to expect the world at his feet. Or maybe it’s just the cool amusement or cold irritation that seem like his default settings. It itches at Dean’s spine, makes him want to poke and prod, or maybe just keep his knives handy.

Luna he can’t get a read on, but Dean’s going to go out on a limb and say that’s pretty much everyone’s take on Luna. He’s not special there.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair in irritation, Dean makes the call, then flops down on the unclaimed bed and listens to the rings. He counts five before there’s a click, and says, “Hey, Bobby.”

“Dean.” Bobby sounds just the faintest bit wary under the good humor. “More demons to set loose?”

Dean winces. “Not my favorite pastime,” he says, and Bobby snorts.

“You get that book yet?” he asks. “Marcus didn’t shoot you?”

“He can’t aim for shit.” Dean skips right past the topic of the book, and says instead, “Hey, you know any hunters from England?”

There’s a pause, surprised. “Not many hunters back there in general,” Bobby says after a moment. “Whatever supernatural population they’ve got, it tends to police itself, from the look of things. But I know a few who ended up here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“We met a pair of them, maybe,” Dean says, and pushes up, automatically going to check the salt lines in front of the door and window. The motel’s parking lot is almost empty, but one of the upstairs rooms on the other side of the lot has the lights on, even though there’s no sign of another can on that side. “Man and a woman, both sounded English. The guy’s black, tall, and the girl’s a tiny little blonde thing. Blaise Zabini and Luna Lovegood.”

“The names don’t ring a bell, but I’ll call around,” Bobby says. “You’re thinking they’re hunters?”

“Hunters or something to hunt,” Dean says, a little grimly. There have been too many blurred lines, recently, and he doesn’t want this to be another. “Or maybe they’re both just crazy.”

That, at least, wrings a sound of amusement out of Bobby. “If they’re hunters, they’re definitely crazy,” he says. “I’ll get back to you, Dean.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, but he’s already talking to dead air. With a sigh, he ends the call and shoves the phone away, just as movement at the edge of the highway catches his attention.

It’s Blaise and Luna, walking arm in arm as they turn off the road and into the motel lot. Luna’s making broad, wild gestures with one hand, looking rapt, and Blaise is smiling faintly as he looks down at her. Neither one of them looks particularly dusty or tired, like they would if they’d walked all the way back from the river, though Dean supposes they could have hitched another ride back instead of just hoofing it. Still, it’s one more faintly off thing, and he taps his fingers against the wall, watches as they head up the stairs, making for the lighted room. Luna produces the keys with a flourish, twirling over the doorstep, and Blaise laughs as he follows. The door shuts, and a moment later shadows pass in front of the window, one and then another.

Dean looks away, back towards the road, and frowns.

There’s another man approaching, staying near the edge of the building and just barely in the shadows. He’s walking casually, hands in his pockets, but Dean doesn’t like the timing. He props his shoulder against the window frame, watching as the man comes to a stop beside the stairs. Dean tracks his gaze, and—there’s no doubt he’s staring right at Luna and Blaise’s room.

For a long pause, Dean counts the seconds as the man stays where he is, watching. Then, with a spill of light, the room’s door opens, and Blaise steps out onto the walk. He casts around, but his eyes are on the sky, and he raises an arm, elbow bent. There’s a moment as the man below stays frozen, and Dean debates going for his gun—to defend or threaten, he’s not entirely sure which—but then a small shape drops from the motel’s roof and flutters down, wings sweeping shut as it alights on Blaise’s elbow.

It’s an owl. It might even be the same owl Luna saw on the road, the one she pointed out to Blaise. Blaise certainly seems familiar enough with it; he runs a finger over its head, smiling faintly, and then steps back, carrying it into the room without a pause. The door closes again, and Luna’s shadow flickers across the curtains, practically bouncing. Dean’s pretty sure that the motel doesn’t allow pets, and he raises a brow, takes another glance down at the stranger—

The man is gone. There’s no sign of him anywhere in the lot, and something prickles across the back of Dean’s neck, sharp and wary and edged with claws. He doesn’t move for a long minute, scanning the stairs, the walkway, the parking lot, but there’s no sign of the stalker. Just shadows, stretching as the moon climbs.

Dean lets the curtain drop, entirely unhappy about this turn of events. He’s not sure what the hell is going on, but he _is_ sure that he doesn’t like it one damn bit.


	5. Chapter 5

“It’s from Harry!” Luna says with delight, freeing the scroll from the owl’s leg. The bird resettles its wings, hooting softly in thanks, and Blaise eyes it, but it doesn’t seem eager to head back out the door. Instead, the moment he transfers it to the back of one of the rickety chairs, it tucks its head under its wing and goes to sleep. Not eager for a reply, then, either, which at least makes Blaise feel a little more at ease.

“What does Potter want with a pair of vagrants?” he asks dryly, and Luna laughs, throwing herself down on the bed and crossing her legs beneath her as she undoes the ties. Blaise joins her, curious despite himself; he and Potter parted on decent terms, not quite friends but perhaps something close, and this is the first time Potter has tried to make contact. He of all people seems to understand the need to get away from Wizarding Britain and the remnants fo the war.

Luna hums, collapsing onto her back with her legs still crossed, and holds the parchment over her head to study it. “He made Auror,” she says, though she doesn’t sound as delighted by the thought as Blaise would think she might. “He and Ron both finished their training and have worked three cases so far. Hunting Dark wizards.”

Blaise grimaces, letting himself fall back to lie beside her. He can't imagine going right from defeating Voldemort to hunting down the last of his followers, and he’s bewildered that Harry picked that as his career choice. Then again, he’s not a Gryffindor; maybe there's a thread of logic there that’s lost to him.

“All in one piece, then?” he asks, without much worry. The Aurors aren’t likely to risk their star recruit right off the bat.

“I would think so,” Luna offers, though it’s thoughtful more than anything. “He wouldn’t be writing to us if he had other things on his mind. Harry's best with immediate things.”

Blaise snorts, because that’s certainly true. Scanning the scrawled lines, he raises a brow. “A spring wedding? How perfectly horrendous.”

“Ron and Hermione will do better than your mother, I'm sure.” Luna tips her head, letting their temples touch, and smiles. “They’ve found what they're looking for.”

Given the tension that’s been between them since fourth year, Blaise would hope so. He rolls his eyes, resettling himself slightly, and skims the letter, not overly interested in the contents. Potter would have kept it short if there was something pressing. “And he’s worried for us. How sweet.”

Luna laughs, like it’s funny. Blaise supposes that it is. “It’s nearly been a year,” she points out. “One year on the seventh of next month.”

It hardly feels like that much time has passed, and Blaise rubs a hand over his eyes, not entirely able to comprehend it. They haven’t truly been _doing_ anything, just traveling and exploring the places where they settle, but it’s made the days blur in a way Blaise has never felt before. The memory of the war still hasn’t lost its edge, though, and Blaise supposes that’s what he’s waiting for.

“It’s good to see he’s just as ready to stick his nose into other people’s business as he was in school,” Blaise says, and thinks for a moment about rolling away and sitting up, but decides to stay where he is. Luna's bed is comfortable, almost obscenely so—she’s put some sort of charm on it that Blaise will have to wring out of her later.

“If we don’t write him back, he’s coming to find us,” Luna relays dutifully, though Blaise saw that part as well. It would be hard not to, with the way it was underlined.

“Of course he is,” Blaise mutters darkly, and closes his eyes. Luna's hair smells faintly of river weed and cold water, and she’s a warm weight next to him. He tries to remember another person he’s been this close to, but—beyond a handful of one-off lovers and his mother on the rare occasions she can tear herself away from a new beau or husband, there’s never been anyone as content to share his space as Luna. Even the lovers are generally only present for a reason, while Luna simply is.

Light fingers brush his hair, and Luna rolls into his side, resting her head on his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I hope we can find Moon Frogs somewhere else,” she says. “I’d like to see them.”

Blaise makes a sound of acknowledgement without opening his eyes, draping an arm around her shoulders. “The Devil’s Boot is at a place where three rivers meet, right? A special place. Maybe if we get there when the moon is full, we can find some.”

“Three days,” Luna informs him. “It’s currently waxing. We can get to the Devil’s Boot in three days, can't we?”

“I should hope so,” Blaise tells her, dust-dry. “Even walking would likely get us there in that time.” He’s fairly certain it would, at least; he hasn’t personally traveled many great distances on foot, but how difficult can it be?

“Maybe Sam and Dean will give us another ride if we can't find a car,” Luna says, sounding entirely too enthusiastic about this idea. When Blaise cracks open an eye to give her an incredulous look, she beams at him. “I like their car.”

“Carriages are nicer,” Blaise says, unimpressed, and then pauses. “A thestral would be very useful right now, actually.”

Luna is silent for a long moment, fingers gentle against his scalp as she traces runes through his hair. “So many people can see them now,” she says wistfully.

Of course Luna wouldn’t lament her ability to do so. Of course she wouldn’t place blame on the thestrals themselves, or regret the circumstances. Blaise isn't so kind. The first time he glanced at the carriages and saw the skeletal black horses standing in the traces, he’d wanted to rail and scream at them. Even now, when he thinks of all the first years who had turned up to their second year with no illusions about what pulled the carriages, it makes him angry. Low, cold, a quiet and restless sort of anger, but it never goes away. Sharpens, sometimes, like now, but—it’s been with Blaise from the moment the Carrows dragged the first student away and he came back mangled, crying, _broken_.

Hogwarts was supposed to be safe, separate. The students weren’t supposed to be subjected to torture by the professors they came to learn from.

“Are there any flying horses in America?” he asks, and anyone else would show _some_ reaction to the change of subject, whether grateful or judgmental. Luna just hums, tapping her fingernail against the button of Blaise's shirt.

“I believe there are quite a few Aethonans,” she says. “Settlers let them go, or lost them, and now there are great herds in the mountains. But the native wizards have several breeds, too. They're very pretty.”

“Probably too showy to use as a replacement for the car,” Blaise concludes, and Luna laughs against his shoulder.

“They require more steering,” she says mirthfully, and then, “Blaise, we should answer Harry's letter.”

There’s no chance that they wouldn’t. Blaise inclines his head. “In the morning. We can write it while we drive, once we find a car. You’ll tell him we’re fine?”

“Are we?” Luna asks thoughtfully, and from this angle the scar on her cheek is all too clear. Blaise closes his eyes, tightening his arm around her just a little, and listens as she hums the tune of an old, old lullaby that his mother used to sing when he was a child.

 

 

“I don’t think I like this place much,” Luna says, pausing at the edge of the road.

Blaise grimaces, stopping next to her. “The lack of sidewalks is atrocious,” he agrees, eyeing the used car lot like it’s personally responsible for the absence. They’re _barely_ out of the town; it’s truly ridiculous for there not to be a place for people to walk.

“Not that, so much,” Luna says thoughtfully, and her eyes are still on the intersection in front of them, where two streets form a perfect crossroad. “The Nargles must be particularly fond of this place.”

Blaise has never heard her say _that_ before. He gives her a wary look, then studies the street. The car lot is almost directly across from them, chain-link gate pulled open, rows of cars shining in the midmorning sun. At first glance, he can’t pick out anything that could be upsetting Luna, but after a moment of careful attention, he feels it. Nothing overt, nothing terrible, but a low-level hum that makes his skin prickle, his hair stand on end. He takes a half-step back without quite meaning to, frown deepening, and says, “Oh.”

“Oh,” Luna agrees, and slides her hand into his, tangling their fingers together. Glances up at him, pale eyes looking even wider than normal, and says, “Perhaps we should try the next town over.”

They could probably figure out the Apparition coordinates from the road map, Blaise thinks, though he’s a little skeptical of his skill in that area. He isn’t _that_ skilled at arithmancy, and Apparition arithmancy usually requires special training. They touched on it in Hogwarts, but only vaguely, and Blaise had been too busy coping with the Carrows trying to recruit several of the first year Slytherins as leverage over their parents to do his own study on the matter.

Of course, there are always more Muggle methods of transportation, and if Luna thinks leaving is a good idea Blaise is more than willing to try them.

Before either of them can turn away, though, a familiar figure steps through the gates, raising a hand in greeting. The car repairman looks significantly more easygoing right now, and he crosses the road in the wide gap between cars, approaching them with a smile.

“Morning,” he says. “Glad you could make it. I thought you might take a Greyhound to the city or something before I could catch you.”

Blaise doesn’t quite like the feeling of being cornered, even though the area around them is wide open, and the street behind them is empty. Still, the man seems like he’s trying to be friendly, so he inclines his head in return, and asks, “Was there a particular reason? I thought we settled the bill—”

The repairman shakes his head. “It’s not about the bill,” he says. “I was doing another check on your transmission, and I think I found the source of the problem. That one hose was loose, but there was a score down by the coupling. Looks like someone cut it, too.”

“Cut it,” Blaise repeats, and a chill slides down his spine, at odds with the heat of the day. He looks down at Luna, to find her looking back, silent and solemn.

Her fingers curl just a little more tightly into his, and Blaise grips back.

“Whoever sold it to you was a crook, if they knew it was damaged like that,” is the repairman’s opinion, and he tips his head at the lot behind him. “Ben’s around if you want to take a look at what he’s got. It’ll at least be better than what you had.”

They’ve been on the road almost a year at this point. Blaise suspects that it wasn’t the seller who had a hand in this, because surely they would have noticed long ago if it was. He can’t think who else it might have been, though—no Dark wizard or witch would have even the faintest inklings of how to sabotage a car, beyond maybe turning it into a frog.

“All right,” Luna says before Blaise can come up with a response, and she takes two steps forward, tugging Blaise after her. There’s something about the set of her mouth that Blaise isn’t sure he likes, a tension to her shoulders that says she’s braced for something. He shoots her a look, trying to pick out her motivation, but she meets his eyes with a vague smile and keeps moving, crossing the road and stepping through the fence.

“I’ll let Ben know you’re here,” the repairman says, and waves a hand at the cars around with a sort of awkwardness that says he doesn’t do this sort of selling often. “If anything catches your eye, he’ll be happy to show it to you.”

“Thank you,” Luna says serenely, and drifts towards the first row, still not releasing Blaise’s hand. She runs her fingers over a fire-red hood, then steps away, towards a low-slung black car with stripes of white down its side. “Do you seen anything you like, Blaise?”

Blaise wrinkles his nose slightly. “They’re all cars,” he says, because he doesn’t think any Muggle vehicles are particularly appealing to the eye. Brooms are much nicer to look at.

“I suppose they are,” Luna agrees, and it’s dreamy, not quite distracted but certainly something close. The tone makes something in Blaise’s chest tighten; he remembers when she used to use that voice, back at Hogwarts. It’s not an act, not really, but—the next best thing, maybe. This is Luna with her defenses up, and far too many fears.

“Luna?” he asks quietly, but she casts him a quick smile and keeps moving.

“It’s all right, Blaise,” she says. “We’ll find something, here or in the next town.”

The phrase has a weight to it, a meaning. Blaise considers it, turns it over. Their next stop is going to be Lone Pine, if everything goes according to plan, but Luna didn’t name it even if names normally delight her. Caution, he thinks, and carefully tucks any reaction he wants to have deep down inside.

“Nothing red,” he says instead of asking. “I’m not traveling the country in something the color of an overshined apple.”

“The white is pretty,” Luna says, pointing to a boxy van across from them. Blaise gives her a look, and it makes her laugh, pulling him on to the next row. “Grey?” she asks. “It’s the color of a unicorn foal, isn’t it?”

This one is somewhat better; it at least looks like the vast majority of cars they’ve seen, plain and unassuming. Blaise tips his head, then offers, “Whichever you’d like.”

“Not too picky, then?” a jovial voice asks, and Luna’s hand is suddenly iron-tight around Blaise’s. She turns, pulling him with her, and gives the man behind them a pretty, vague smile that means absolutely nothing.

“I’m afraid we’re not too familiar with cars,” she says politely. “Hello.”

“Hi there.” The man shoves a hand out. “I’m Ben, thanks for stopping by. Can I point you towards anything, or did you just want to browse for a bit?”

Blaise keeps his mouth shut, but—there’s something off. With the man, with the place, with _something_ nearby, and he can’t tell what it is, but he can feel the pressure of it behind his eyes, like a warning of an impending migraine. Because of who his mother is, and all the power and wealth she wields like a weapon, Blaise has met a great many people attempting to sell things, but this feels different. This feels like standing before Alecto Carrow in a darkened hallway with a first year Hufflepuff behind him, trembling as she clutched at his robes, and realizing with a sudden, stark understanding that if he moved, if he didn’t draw Professor Carrow’s attention to him, an eleven-year-old girl would suffer for it.

(Blaise has never considered himself brave. He’s never wanted to be. He’s not a noble person, not generous or selfless or kind, but there’s a world of difference between being vain or petty or superior and letting someone torture a little girl just because she said she’d had a Muggle friend and didn’t think they were so terrible. Blaise had intended to stay as far away from any part of the war as he could, to keep his head down and his nose clear until the winner emerged, but—

At some point, doing nothing becomes compliance. At some point, doing nothing is just as bad as helping the terrible things happen. Like his mother, he made his choice, and it’s not one he can regret.)

Luna takes Ben’s hand, a bare, delicate touch of fingers, like she’s a fragile, breakable thing, and barely shakes it. Blaise would be surprised—usually she has a grip like a python and a handshake that’s overenthusiastic to say the least—but he doesn’t want to touch Ben either. Keeps his hand at his side, pointedly, and doesn’t let go of Luna with the other.

“What would you recommend?” Luna asks politely, and takes a step back to Blaise’s side, away from Ben.

If this bothers the man, he doesn’t show it. Laughs, brightly, and waves a hand at the grey car. “That depends on what you want her for,” he says. “Starting a family? Planning for kids? Or are you on your way somewhere, heading out for an adventure?” There’s a light in his eyes that feels a little too much like knowing. “Something with good gas mileage and a great safety rating?”

Blaise doesn’t see the mechanic anywhere. For all he can tell, the whole area is deserted. There are no cars passing on the street, no people, no sounds. The wind swirls through the empty lot, and the shiver down Blaise’s spine has turned to claws flaying open his nerves with each second the silence stretches.

“I think,” he says quietly, “that you should get us the paperwork for this one. We’ll take it.” It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have enough Muggle money with him to cover the price painted on the windscreen; they just need an instant to get away, a moment without eyes on them to Apparate back to the motel, gather their things, and leave.

Something flickers across the man’s face, there and gone in an instant, and he smiles. Not a salesman’s smile, but darker, sharper, like he’s hiding dagger teeth behind the press of his lips. Blaise feels a flicker of true alarm, deep-seated and unexpected, and hears the sudden catch of Luna’s breath as she moves, ducking to the side and dragging Blaise with her.

Behind them, a footstep crunches in the gravel.

Blaise is half a second too slow; his fingers slip from Luna’s as he spins, and the man behind him is a stranger, unfamiliar, but his eyes are solid black, and his grin is almost mad. He swings, and Blaise reels back, but not far enough.

The fist to the face is a burst of impact, pain exploding through his cheek and jaw. Blaise feels his feet lifted right off the ground by the force of it, and he goes flying back, hits the ground hard and immediately rolls, rising to his feet. Hesitates for half a second—

Two jets of red light slams into the approaching man in quick succession, and he crumples, spilling across the pavement at Blaise’s feet. Blaise spins, drawing his wand, and throws a Shield Charm over Luna an instant before the salesman’s fist can reach her. The impact of it is tangible, and Blaise has taken a hit from a giant before and not had the force of it rattle his magic like that. In disbelief, he hurls a Stunning Spell at the man as he turns, and it takes him full in the chest but he doesn’t even _stagger_.

“There we go,” Ben says, obscenely cheerful, and shakes out his hand, flexing his fingers. “See? Your chances are going down the drain. Surrender now, nice and easy, and I promise it won’t even hurt—”

“Stupefy!” Luna cries as the Shield Charm shatters, and there are three Stunning Spells in the air at once. Ben turns in a blur, too fast to be human but still too slow, and they hit him one after the other, hurl him back into one of the parked cars with the scream of the alarm and the crash of breaking glass. When Ben hits the ground, though, he doesn’t get up.

“Blaise?” Luna asks, and she’s suddenly at his side, reaching up. Belatedly, Blaise feels the hot trickle of blood down his chin, the sting of a split lip, the sharp, too-deep ache of a broken cheekbone, and shakes himself. The bone is most pressing; he jabs his wand at it with a muttered, “Episkey,” and feels the skin-crawling slide of the break knitting itself back together.

“I’m all right,” he says. “You?”

“Fine.” Luna turns wide eyes on the two slumped bodies, her grip on her wand tight. “Do you—”

“ _Ben_?” There’s a sound of fury, running steps. The repairman hurls himself at the scene, looking angry. “What are you doing, you bastards?”

Blaise turns to meet him, already raising his wand with a Memory Charm on the tip of his tongue, but Luna gasps. Her hand is suddenly on his arm, hauling him back, and she snaps out, “Protego!”

The Shield Charm blooms around both of them, just as a spray of black smoke collides with the glowing barrier. It swirls away, rising up, then sweeps down, right at the repairman. He recoils, shocked, but it’s not enough; the smoke swirls into his nose and mouth, slides down his throat and disappears, and when he opens his eyes again they’re solid black.

“Blaise,” Luna says, and her tone is almost thoughtful, “I don’t think they’re Muggles.”


	6. Chapter 6

Blaise snorts, watching the unfamiliar man twitch, twist, and pull himself to his feet, like two Stunning Spells were a minor inconvenience instead of enough to almost kill a wizard. “At the very least, whatever is in them isn’t,” he agrees, and casts a glance around them. The deserted street is suddenly a hundred times more sinister; it means the creatures’ reach extends far beyond these two if they can keep the rest of the town away. At the very least, there have to be more of them. And as long as the Shield Charm is up, he and Luna can’t Apparate.

“I rather think you’re right,” Luna says, flicking a quick look at the collapsed salesman before her eyes slide back to the repairman. He and the stranger are circling the shield like wolves, and she raises her voice slightly, asks, “Why are you attacking us?”

The repairman chuckles, and it’s Ben’s jovial tone that answers. “We heard all about the war down below, you know. And when you turned up on our turf, we thought it was too good to be true. At first we were only going to keep an eye on you, save you for a later date, but you made everything so much more convenient for us, getting tangled up with the Winchesters like you did.”

Blaise’s eyes narrow. Winchesters? People they’ve met recently, then, and that only leaves one option. “I assume you’re referring to Sam and Dean,” he says coolly.

“Bingo!” The creature points at him, grinning. “Your war might be over, but ours is just picking up steam, and the Winchester boys are the stars of the show.” His smile gains teeth, and he levels it right at Luna. “Sammy-boy won’t want to hurt a pretty little thing like you, now, will he?”

Blaise feels a flicker of fury, cold and sharp like the blade of a knife, and curls the fingers of his free hand around Luna’s wrist. Turns, putting his back to her so he can see the stranger, and says, “I think we’ve suffered this monologue more than long enough, Luna.”

“Yes,” Luna decides, and twists her hand to clasp his wrist in return. “You’re really rather dull, whoever you are.”

The man pauses, expression twisting, like he can’t decide whether to be amused or offended. “You wand-users think you’re invincible,” he scoffs. “But you’ll make a nice meat-suit once you surrender.”

“We won’t ever surrender,” Luna says simply, and the Shield Charm shatters like breaking glass. Instantly, Blaise flings a Blasting Hex at the stranger, turns, feels the heat of a hex that just misses him, and dives to the side. Luna moves with him, ducks down under a punch as the repairman lunges, and Blaise kicks out his knee, rises—

The punch that catches him in the ribs is an unpleasant surprise, but Blaise keeps moving, has had practice not showing such things. A Shield Charm blocks a second punch, and as it falls he snaps, “Levicorpus!”

An invisible force hauls the man backwards and up by the ankle as he yelps, and in the same moment Luna says, “Now!” Her fingers tighten on Blaise’s wrist, and he has just long enough to brace himself before the lurching snap of Apparation catches him. Side-Along is always vaguely unpleasant, but this time the escape is too much of a relief for Blaise to care.

They hit the ground hard, dust and pebbles flying, roll right into the scrubby brush before they can redirect momentum. Blaise hisses, the dry twigs like thorns, and immediately scrambles to his feet, turning to look for anyone who might have followed them. There’s no one, though; above them is the plain road sign welcoming them to Two Oaks, the straight, flat stretch of the road, and not another soul in sight.

With a shuddering breath, Blaise sinks back down to the ground, uncaring of the dirt. Luna is pulling herself out of the brush, hair wild and full of twigs but wand gripped tight in her hand, and she looks around them as well for a long moment before she settles on her knees, smoothing her hair back behind her ears as best she can.

“Well,” she says. “If looking for a new car usually goes like that, I can see why Muggles don’t do it often.”

A laugh cracks out of Blaise’s throat, rough and short and sharp, and he leans forward, bracing an elbow on his knee as he wipes the blood from his chin. “It seems like an inconvenient system,” he agrees, and pauses. The creature, whatever it was, spilled enough information for them to start gathering the pieces together, at least, and the picture is an unpleasant one. “They saw us somewhere,” he says. “Or recognized us somewhere.”

“Recognized _me_ , I think,” Luna says thoughtfully. “You were very brave during the war, Blaise, but most people couldn’t see how brave unless they were at Hogwarts.”

Whereas Luna, who escaped the Dark Lord and actively gathered an army against him, had her face plastered across all of England and Scotland, Blaise thinks with a grimace. He rubs a hand over his hair, breathing out, and then shakes himself. “We need to get to a city,” he says. “Somewhere we can disappear.”

But Luna doesn’t jump to agree. She pauses, twisting her wand in her fingers like a baton, and then says, “I think we should warn Sam and Dean first.”

For a long, long moment, Blaise stares at her. Then, with a breath, he reminds himself that this is the sort of thing he should have expected, and tries to keep his voice even when he says, “Luna, given their reaction to us, I’m fairly sure they know someone is after them. Something.”

“I’m sure they do,” Luna agrees vaguely, and rises to her feet, brushing down her jeans. “But they likely don’t know how, and it would be best to tell them.” She fixes Blaise with a wide-eyed look, and with a sinking feeling Blaise guess what she’s about to say before she even opens her mouth again. “It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”

Blaise groans, and stubbornly stays where he is, even when Luna offers him her hand. Of course, this being Luna, she isn’t even slightly deterred, and it adds a touch of irritation to Blaise’s voice as he says, “We just got _done_ with a war, Luna. We should leave the Muggles to theirs, and keep going.”

“Should we?” Luna asks thoughtfully. It manages to sound a lot like a challenge even so.

“You,” Blaise tells her darkly, “are the _worst_ Ravenclaw. The hat should have put you in Gryffindor.” He clasps her hand, and lets her pull him to his feet.

Luna smiles, and Blaise can see in her face that she knows she’s won. “I like lions,” she agrees. “But I think I’d rather find magical creatures than be brave. Sometimes I have to pick one over the other, but I still like knowing about magical creatures more.”

Blaise rolls his eyes, but shifts his wand into a more secure grip and casts a glance at the road. There don’t seem to be any cars approaching in either direction, and while Blaise wants to blame it on the black smoke creatures, it’s also not unusual, from what he’s seen of the town. “You _could_ pick the magical creatures every time,” he points out.

Luna simply shakes her head. “I couldn’t,” she says, and meets his eyes. “You couldn’t, either, Blaise.”

A small, petty part of Blaise wants to pretend to misunderstand, say he doesn’t like magical creatures anyway, but he doesn’t. Looks away, instead, like that will make Luna’s point any less true. And—if this were Hogwarts, during their war, he wouldn’t even bother protesting. He’d warn anyone involved, do what he could to get people out of the line of fire. But this isn’t Hogwarts, isn’t the castle and classmates and teachers who have earned his loyalty over the last seven years. This is a new war, by the sound of it, something building and brewing and dragging Muggles down with it, and Blaise is so very, very tired of fighting and struggling and being afraid.

“Luna,” he starts, though even he doesn’t know what he wants to say.

Luna seems to, though. She takes his hand, and asks, “Dean’s nice, isn’t he?”

Blaise groans, brief but heartfelt. “No,” he says, a little darkly. “He’s a suspicious bastard with a nice face, and for the record, I think this is a terrible idea.”

“The motel it is,” Luna says cheerfully, then lets go, turns on her heel, and Apparates with a pop.

Cursing, Blaise fixes the image of the hotel in his mind and follows, not about to trust that the room will be safe. It’s likely a good idea to retrieve their things, though; Muggles getting their hands on magically expanded bags, two-way mirrors, and various potions would be a small disaster.

Entirely against his expectations, the motel room is empty except for Luna, who’s on her knees beside her bag, shoving things away with impressive speed. She has her wand tucked behind her ear, and one of her gnome earrings keeps waving its arms like it wants to grab the end of it. Blaise takes one careful look around the room, then flicks his wand sharply, and watches all of his belongings whirl up, fold themselves, and drop neatly into his pack. There isn’t much; he and Luna aren’t quite traveling lightly, but being on the road for so long has taught them how to make do with essentials and not weigh themselves down too heavily.

“I assume you have a plan to find Sam and Dean, beyond another attempt at hitchhiking?” he asks dryly.

Luna gives him a look that’s faintly confused. “We don’t need to find them,” she says, as though it should be obvious. “Their car is on the other side of the lot.”

Blaise pauses, surprised. He hadn’t seen it last night, but then, he’d been distracted, first by the watcher at the river and then by Potter’s owl. With a grimace, he inclines his head, accepting that he missed something, and shoulders his backpack. Laying his wand across the palm of his hand, he murmurs, “Point Me,” and once it’s spun to a stop checks the window. The room it’s indicating is almost directly across from theirs, but on the ground level, and he frowns, thinking of the creatures in the car lot. If they had managed to get inside him or Luna, it would have been simple for them to walk right across the pavement and knock on the other door. Maybe Sam and Dean would have been wary, but—what if they hadn’t? Luna certainly doesn’t inspire fear at first glance, no matter how strong she is.

“What _are_ they,” he says, more to himself than Luna. Black eyes and thick black smoke and bodily possession don’t spark any memories from Care of Magical Creatures, though it was never Blaise’s best class. He can’t remember any charms or hexes or curses that would fit, either, and both the Dark Arts and their defense are areas he’s perfectly competent. His mother is deep into old magic, too; nothing he’s heard from her matches, though, so he’s inclined to think that it’s either an American thing or something that wizards back home don’t know to be wary of.

“Sam and Dean?” Luna asks with faint surprise. “Human at the very least, I would think. Possibly Muggles, too, but I’m not sure.”

Blaise snorts, glancing over at her as she rises and shoulders her bag. “If those creatures are a part of the Muggle world, I suspect we’ll have to expand our definition of _Muggle_ ,” he says dryly, and glances out the window before he goes to open the door.

“Do you remember that mug in the petrol station?” Luna asks dreamily. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy’.”

The urge to make a face is too strong to resist. “That’s a ridiculous phrase,” Blaise tells her, and heads for the stairs down to the ground level. “I'm not going to take life advice from a coffee mug.”

“I don’t think where you see it makes the advice any less valuable,” Luna points out, pulling herself up onto the stair railing and sliding down the last few feet. She hops down just as Blaise reaches the pavement, and turns to smile at him. “Maybe they didn’t expect us to be able to Apparate.”

“American wizards certainly seem to do it less,” Blaise agrees, sidestepping the Winchesters’ car and heading for the door. Luna beats him there by a step, but instead of knocking she turns, sweeping a look across the lot as Blaise raises his fist. Lightly, he raps his knuckles against the wood, and almost immediately the door cracks open.

“Blaise,” Sam says, and then his eyes widen. He pulls the door open the rest of the way, and demands, “Are you all right? What happened?”

A little surprised, Blaise puts a hand up, belatedly remembering the split lip and what’s  doubtless a spectacular bruise spreading across his cheek. His ribs aren’t feeling entirely intact, either, now that he has time to reflect on it.

“We were jumped,” he says dryly, and inclines his head to Dean as he appears behind Sam. “By creatures that were looking to inconvenience you, I believe.”

“ _Jumped_?” Sam says in alarm. “Where’s Luna? Is she okay?”

Luna takes a step to the side, putting herself in view of the doorway, and waves brightly. “We’re quite all right,” she says. “I'm afraid a few cars were destroyed, though. And there’s something possessing the car salesmen.” Then she pauses, considering. “Well, I suppose it’s possessing his brother-in-law now, but it _was_ possessing him.”

“You got jumped by _demons_?” Dean asks, incredulously. “And you got away?”

Blaise exchanges amused glances with Luna. “Of course we did,” he says, because that should be self-evident. “Those were demons, then?” There are plenty of witches and wizards who ascribe to some form of Christianity, enough that Blaise has heard the tales. Even beyond that, creatures carrying that name appear in a lot of tales from his mother’s faith; demons are dark and evil creatures the world over

“What, they don’t have them in Britain?” Dean gives them both a look, then steps back. “Sam, where’s the holy water?”

“My bag, left pocket,” Sam says, with the immediacy of an automatic answer. Then he pauses, looking torn, though he doesn’t make any move to step out of the doorway.

“I've certainly never encountered a demon in any part of England or Scotland before,” Blaise says, and raises a brow at Luna, who shakes her head immediately.

“Only people who were evil all on their own,” she says, and it’s almost serene, entirely accepting of the fact that humans are just as evil as a demon. Blaise grimaces, because he _wishes_ the Carrows had been possessed; it would be a neat explanation for all the ways they were twisted and terrible. But they weren’t, because he can _feel_ the wrongness of the demons, and the Carrows were a simple, human kind of wrong.

Sam grimaces. “There are plenty of those,” he says, and there's a touch of despair to it, something tired. “I—you said they were after us?”

“They were very certain you wouldn’t want to hurt me,” Luna informs him. “Because I'm small.”

Blaise rolls his eyes, because that isn't what the thing said, but he can see why Luna took that away from the conversation. “They also mentioned a war,” he says, and Dean pauses, right behind Sam. His expression flickers into something dark, and he holds Blaise's eyes, something that isn't quite an apology on his face. A shade of the same weariness that Sam was wearing, Blaise thinks, and glances down at the bottle he’s holding, then raises a brow.

“Holy water,” he says dryly. “For us, I assume?” After all, if Sam and Dean have dealt with demons often enough to recognize them from a vague description, they likely recognize the dangers of possession and how thoroughly the demons can fake human interaction.

“Hold still,” Dean says, a flicker of amusement in his voice as he steps forward, lifting the bottle. Blaise stays where he is, though he gives Dean a narrow look as he tips the bottle over Blaise's head.

The drops simply feel like water, and he crosses his arms over his chest and asks, “Satisfied?”

“For now, yeah,” Dean confirms, and that smirk is a taunt. He jerks his head, and Blaise snorts softly but steps to the side, letting Luna take his place. She smiles brightly at Dean, taking her three drops of water easily.

“Is it supposed to feel different from normal water?” she asks curiously. “Is it thicker, or brighter, like star water? Does the steam make halos if you heat it?”

Dean pauses, apparently caught off guard, but Sam laughs, something like relief on his face. “I've never tried,” he says. “Maybe, though.”

“I might like to try that,” Luna says thoughtfully. “It would be quite pretty, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, it would.” Sam smiles at her, then steps back, nudging Dean to the side. “Come in, we can—”

Blaise shakes his head. “We’re leaving,” he says, giving Luna a warning look. She gives him wide, innocent eyes in return, and Blaise bites back a groan. “We passed on the news, that should be enough. Have a good day.”

“Blaise,” Luna starts.

“ _No_ ,” Blaise says firmly, refusing to give in. “We’ve been perfectly helpful, now it’s time for us to go our separate ways and never see each other again.”

“Blaise,” Luna says again, patiently. “Is that the stranger from the car lot?”

Caught off guard, Blaise jerks around, eyes immediately finding the figure in an oversized sweatshirt just coming out of the motel’s office. With a curse, he grabs Luna, dragging her forward into the Winchesters’ room, and Sam quickly shuts the door and locks it.

“Demon?” he asks, hurrying to pull the blinds.

Dean mutters something anatomically improbable and grabs for one of his bags, hauling it up and pulling a shotgun out of it. Blaise distinctly remembers Alecto Carrow being derisive and dismissive of them in Muggle Studies, but Dean holds it like he knows it’s dangerous. “They're like goddamned cockroaches,” he says, and shoves the three large books scattered over the bed into his bag, then shoulders it. “Sammy—”

“I've got it,” Sam says, and lunges for the other bed, throwing the flat device and a handful of newspapers into his own bag. “We should find Marcus and warn him—”

“Marcus has three layers of Devil’s Traps around his house and never leaves his property,” Dean retorts. “Calling him will do fine. We need to get to the car.”

When Sam glances up, there's concern on his face, deep and honest. “You don’t have a car, right?” he asks Luna. “Or did you find one?”

“The demon didn’t seem interested in selling us one,” Luna says. “He’s probably not a very good businessman.”

Sam hesitates, then says, “You can come with us.”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean says, irritated.

“No, Dean, it’s fine.” Sam shifts his smile to Blaise, ignoring Dean's expression. “If you stick around they’re just going to try for you again. We can help you.”

Blaise considers for a moment. The mechanic mentioned he’d thought they would take a Greyhound out of town, so that’s another option. Blaise is fairly certain the demons will be looking there, though, if it’s an obvious one for a Muggle. Apparation is their next best chance, but too many in a row are exhausting, and Two Oaks is far from anywhere significant. Barring that, they might be able to find a car somewhere, but Blaise assumes it’s akin to stealing a broom; the owner will track it, the Aurors will get involved, and it won’t end pleasantly for anyone.

“A lift to the next town wouldn’t be unappreciated,” he says at length, faintly frustrated with his lack of _knowing_ where the Muggle world is concerned. If there are other options Muggles use for transportation, he doesn’t know them, and magical ones are inconvenient here. Perhaps that’s why American wizards largely stick to cities, or keep to their rather isolated communities.

“The next town it is.” Dean gives him a grin that has a few too many teeth to be pure humor. “‘Course, we have to make it to the car first.”

Blaise returns his smile, thin and faintly sly. “I believe I can help with that,” he says. The motel room has the same layout as theirs did, and that means— “Your bathroom window opens?”

“A distraction?” Luna asks, delighted. “How Slytherin!”

A true Slytherin tactic would be never getting into this situation in the first place, but Blaise has clearly been spending far too much time in the company of people with Gryffindor tendencies. He gives Luna a look, and she laughs and claps her hands together.

“Harry would be proud,” she tells him, and Blaise pulls a face.

“Potter is _never_ hearing about this,” he tells her, and heads for the bathroom, gathering the willpower to do something stupid.


End file.
